


Day Sixteen: Violet & Finch

by claryherondale



Category: All the Bright Places - Jennifer Niven
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cold Weather, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, No Smut, One Shot, Sad, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryherondale/pseuds/claryherondale
Summary: Day 16 of My 31 Favorite ShipsViolet and Finch find another bright place: a kissing bridge in Brown County, Indiana.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is late, oops sorry.
> 
> Some sad Ultraviolet & Finch fluff.
> 
> Also, thank you guys so much for the amazing reception I've gotten on Day Fifteen: Philip & Lukas!! I have no idea why exactly it posted twice, but regardless, but have received more love than any of the other works I've posted on here, so again, thank you. I'm glad I can share my adoration of those boys with all of you.   
> (p.s. still not ready for the finale tomorrow)

I willingly get into the passenger side of the car—something that, just a few months ago, would have been an impossibility for me. Finch makes things easier. I trust him. Despite the fact that it’s snowing, he rolls down his window as we drive toward Brown County. The cold air sweeps up his dark hair, the little flakes of ice coming in to touch his pale face.

I laugh, “Finch, it’s freezing!”

But even though his lips are turning slightly blue, he doesn’t care. It’s part of the thrill of being alive: sensation and experience. Even though our school project is over, we decided to make this journey to a new wandering place. I even agreed to go farther than I originally wanted to.

The sky is steely and nostalgic. Christmas is right around the corner. This will be my first holiday season with Finch, and I’m excited for it—I have a flipbook of blue and yellow post-it notes covered with poorly-drawn doodles of us and little poems. It’s silly, but I think he’ll like it. Finch’s eyes aren’t quite as bright as they used to be, but there’s still something about him that leaves my body sore and full of love. 

When we arrive at our destination, Finch and I get out of the car and step into the snow. We’re both bundled up in copious amounts of clothes, including thick jackets, but it’s still cold. Finch reaches his gloved hand out to me, and I take it. Our fingers awkwardly intertwine together with the thick fabric between us.

“Ultraviolet, it’s best to visit a kissing bridge in October, since there’s an annual festival centered around them during that time, but alas, I have failed you in that. So here we are, in the middle of December, surrounded by a thicket of skeletal trees.”

We walk together farther into the dead saplings, treading over the light covering of snow, crisp on the ground. When we reach the kissing bridge, it’s covered in love notes. Finch and I pull post-its out of the pockets in our coats. I draw a finch on a blue on, and he draws a violet on a yellow one. We stick them there, side by side, our clothed pinkies grazing momentarily. He takes a quick but precise picture of our minimal mark left. Finch smiles at me, just barely, a whisper of happiness on his gentle features.

And then he leans in and kisses me.

It’s a kiss full of cold bodies, falling snow, and warm breath. We’re bundled in fabric, yet we still wrap our arms around one another. It’s a good moment, secluded on this kissing bridge, where people used to go to find this recluse of privacy hundreds of years ago with their partners. 

When we part, Finch whispers, “I love you, Ultraviolet Remarkeyable.”

“I love you, Theodore Finch,” I tell him.

And then it’s gone. Like someone snapped their fingers, shattering the moment and forcing me back into consciousness. I gasp awake in my dorm room, my eyes budding with tears that I try to blink away. My roommate is still sleeping on her bed across from me, but the curtains are drawn back and I can see the snow falling from the sky. My heart aches at the thought that Finch will never see another Christmas.

More than that, he’ll never see another snowflake. He’ll never show me another smile. He’ll never have a better day. The last thing he knew was the euphoria of drowning, completely alone. And the last thing I will ever know of him is his body, pale and bloated, being dragged out of the Blue Hole.

I pull my blanket up more tightly around myself and push a blonde lock of hair behind my ear. There’s only one thing on the wall next to my bed: a blue post-it note with a little drawing of a finch in black ink, an echo of the one I drew in my dream. The song he left for me to find in his final wanderings is stashed somewhere between my mattress and bedframe, but I know I won’t find comfort in it now. I’m moving on. I really am. But there are moments when it hits me harder than others, when I’m not quite sure I can actually accept that he’s gone, despite the fact that I saw his corpse. He left me drowning in air. I miss him. I’m sure I always will, my star-crossed first love.

But I know, that although I’m not with him, he has found a brighter place and can finally cease his lost wandering.

**Author's Note:**

> Hint for tomorrow's (today's) ship:  
> the female counterpart is named after a country


End file.
